


Ten-Year Plan

by djsoliloquy, tanyart



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate universe - Mafia, Katekyou Hitman Reborn AU, M/M, Ten Years Later, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-10
Updated: 2014-09-10
Packaged: 2018-02-16 20:17:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2283186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/djsoliloquy/pseuds/djsoliloquy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/tanyart/pseuds/tanyart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Katekyo Hitman Reborn AU (basically mafia with time travel).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Side A

Maybe it’s because there is no such thing as a peaceful day as the _famiglia’s_ heir apparent, but Eren feels an infinite lack of surprise when he hears an echoing boom in the distance and about one minute later Connie and Sasha are dragging a stranger between them down the street.  Eren squints from his front porch, trying to gauge the situation before he is inevitably dragged into it.  While their excited shouting and laughter doesn’t sound like much of a crisis, he still digs into his back pocket for his phone, sends a quick text to cancel his training lesson with Levi, and jogs over to meet them halfway.

The actual surprise and crisis comes later when Connie and Sasha somehow foists off an older – ten _years_ older – and very grown up-looking Jean into his hands.

At first Eren thinks – _if Jean had an older brother, maybe_.  But he knows Jean is an only child, and maybe that’s a good thing, because Eren realizes the world really shouldn’t have too many adults running around looking like twenty-five year old Jean, who admittedly looks good for a person who had just traveled through time via bazooka blast. Sharp three-piece suit, fancy tie and all.

“Hey, boss,” Jean says, and it’s only two words but already he sounds like he’s put all ten years of maturity to good use.

Eren regrets letting Sasha and Connie take off in a fit of giggles and waggling eyebrows.

“Uh, hello,” he replies, too stunned to say anything else.  The heat rises to his face.  There’s an air of casual confidence this Jean has, the kind of presence that makes Eren feel like he’s dealing with an actual adult, which—this Jean _is_ —and it’s completely weird.   Case in point, he sticks out his hand to shake without a second thought.  Like a total kid.  Like he’s forgotten how many times they had gotten into stupid fistfights and called each other even stupider names.  Eren cringes even before he finishes reaching out.

Older Jean doesn’t blink.  He takes Eren’s hand and lifts it to his lips, pressing them lightly against the family ring.  His breath tickles over Eren’s knuckles as he lets go, quick and easy like it's no big deal.  But, as usual, Jean is wrong because it is a _very_ big deal.

“I…” Eren notices his hand is still suspended in the air.  He puts it down quickly, thumb picking at the back indents of the ring.

He has taken enough etiquette lessons to recognize the formality of the gesture, but it had been so nonchalant and practiced – he wonders exactly how many times Jean had kissed his hand ( _will kiss?_ ) when fifteen year-old Jean can barely look at Eren without making a disgruntled face.

“I can’t believe you’re making me stand on ceremony,” Jean sighs, crossing his arms.

It’s just like him to put the blame on Eren though it is obvious he’s only teasing because there’s a smile and honest to God _twinkle_ in his eyes.  Eren stares, mortified and out of his depth.

“I didn’t mean to do that,” he manages to stammer out before Jean shakes his head with a laugh.

“I’m kidding. I don’t mind.”

It’s unbelievable.  Eren wishes he could blast _himself_ with the Ten Year Bazooka, so at least his older self would be more prepared to handle a Jean his own age.

 _Five minutes_ , Eren thinks as he stares.  Five minutes and older Jean will be gone.

As if sensing Eren’s line of thought, Jean checks his watch – some kind of stunning and wildly expensive Armani piece.  The sleeve of his jacket rides up his wrist, revealing cufflinks bearing the _famiglia_ ’s crest.  For the first time Eren notices the Guardian Ring around Jean’s middle finger, and he can’t help but think this Jean wears it well, not like fifteen year-old Jean who fidgets with it and takes every opportunity to bang it against a hard surface.  

“Has it been five minutes?” Eren asks, and what’s worse than sounding disappointed is how tentative his voice comes out.

"Huh, yeah.  Way past that.  The bazooka must have malfunctioned again," Jean says.  He sounds a bit annoyed but not worried, and even then his expression brightens as he turns to Eren.  "I actually haven't been back here in a while.  Mind if we walked around, boss?"

There is a smile on Jean’s face, one that makes Eren feel incapable of saying no.  It has nothing to do with pounding heart of fluttering stomach – just the way Jean smiles and it looks a little tired, and maybe even a little sad.  Eren lets out a steadying breath, shoulders lowering from their tensed position, and nods.

“Yeah,” he says, briefly touching the back of Jean’s hand.  The gesture feels right even if he has never done it before, and Jean doesn’t seem bothered by it.  “How much do you still remember?”

* * *

It turns out Jean remembers their hometown just fine.  He’s got more interesting stories though – all about other places like Venice and Cairo and Melborne, describing them in detail without quite going into why he had traveled there in the first place.  By the time Eren figures it out, Jean had already ushered him into one of the coffee shops.

“I’m a little hungry.  How about you?” Jean interrupts before the question even leaves Eren’s mouth.  He doesn’t wait for an answer and proceeds to order Eren’s favorite iced coffee drink and pastry, paying with a card that Eren is sure should have been declined.  “Don’t worrying about paying.  My treat.”

In the end Eren walks out of the shop, mouth full of a pastry he had been compelled to eat and sipping sweet coffee from a medium-size cup.  Incredibly, Jean is still talking and Eren is _still_ listening, fascinated despite himself.  Fascinated and annoyed – since Jean somehow manages to direct and steer the conversation with little effort on his part, and Eren is left with the feeling of getting childishly caught up in everything Jean says.

They are nearing Eren’s house again, this ordinary two-story white house with green trimming, in a town that is just as ordinary.  And yet here is Eren, next in line to become the boss of a fairly powerful mafia family.

And there is Jean, all grown up and talking about all the places in the world he has been to, in a tie and three-piece suit with a jacket that doesn’t completely hide the outline of a pistol holster at his shoulder.

This time it’s Eren who interrupts; “Can you tell me anything about the future?”

Jean stops, hand hovering over the front door to Eren’s house.  He doesn’t look surprised by the question.  “I think I better not say.”

“And what if I order you to?”

Jean smiles wryly.  

“You appointed me as a guardian, not a servant,” he says, turning the handle to find it locked.  He glances up, raising his hand to feel over the top of the door frame.  “You’ve given me the autonomy to decide that it’s in our best interest for you to not know, boss.”

Eren stares, his underlying irritation skyrocketing as he watches Jean fish out the house key as easy as if it were his own home.  “…Why do you do that?”

Jean unlocks the door and opens it.  “Do what?”

“Call me boss.  Go into my house without asking.  Buy me things like my favorite coffee and my favorite dessert.  What the hell?”

Jean snorts, glancing down at his feet before he looks back up at Eren and snickers.  

“Because it pisses you off.”

There is three seconds of dead silence before Jean laughs so hard he has to brace one arm against the door.  And everything that is alien and foreign about older Jean suddenly becomes infuriatingly familiar.

Eren snarls, “I’ll show _you_ pissed off-“

Before he knows what he’s doing, he tackles Jean.  There is no technique or finesse despite all the fighting lessons he has had, Eren just throws all his weight into bringing Jean down.  It’s petty and childish, but he still feels that tiny vicious spike of victory when Jean gives a startled noise and falls over on his back.

“I should have known you’d still be an asshole!” Eren says, grabbing Jean by the collar and giving him a rough shake.

It doesn’t occur to him that he is sitting right on top of Jean until he notices that Jean hasn’t been laughing or saying much.  In fact, it’s the first time Eren has seen him look alarmed and ruffled.  

“What?” Eren prompts.  Anything to get Jean to say something.

It takes a moment for Jean to answer, and in that time Eren feels his chest move up and down in even breaths.  It makes him conscious of his weight over Jean and he eases off slightly, still glaring.

Jean clears his throat. “Well, what did you expect then?”

Eren has no immediate answer.

“I…” he begins, and the rest of his thoughts scatter as a cloud of smoke blasts around him and Jean’s solid body shifts, nearly making him lose his balance.  

When the air around him clears, Eren suddenly finds a fifteen year-old Jean under him, looking just as shocked and appalled as Eren feels.  

“No,” Jean says, eyes wide and looking up at Eren.  He covers his face.  “No.  This can’t be happening.  I can’t believe this.”  

Ears burning, Eren lets go of Jean’s school uniform and scrambles off him.  He forces himself to look at him, gets it into his head that it won’t be for another ten years until he will feel totally out of his depth again.

“Yeah, it’s true,” Eren says, knowing that he could just carrying over the fight without context or having to admit anything else.

“Your older self is still an _asshole._ ”


	2. Side B

It’s a cold day ten years in the future.

Which makes no sense, unless it’s secretly a ten-year-and-five-month bazooka and whoever named it just hoped nobody would notice.

Jean notices.  

An older Sasha is there when he comes through and says she’ll take him to the boss’s office. Maybe because Jean’s busy noticing stuff like the rain and how big cell phones still are in the future, he’s not prepared when he finally steps through the door.

A decade-older Eren turns and looks back at him, almost a double take but for how his eyes catch on Jean and don’t let go.

And Jean is suddenly very conscious of being fifteen years old.

Ten years ago, or about a couple weeks past, he had refused to kiss Eren’s ring. Took one glance at Eren and dug his heels in, even when Levi insisted and looked especially menacing for about a minute. No doubt the angel of death brushed Jean with its wings that day, but he didn’t kiss Eren’s ring. He held Eren’s gross sweaty hand and bobbed his face over the knuckles and glared the whole way through, tradition be damned.

Now, a couple weeks or a decade later, Jean stands frozen in middle of the boss’s office, _Eren’s_ office, and it’s too late to wish he’d paid more attention to etiquette.

The script runs on automatic anyway, pulling him from the adrenaline-soaked depths. He reaches for Eren’s hand—whatever changes Eren has undergone in the past decade, Jean definitely recognizes that damn ring. What the hell, he wants to yell at it.

“Jean,” Eren says, because Jean is probably messing it up and holding people’s hands prisoner is strange behavior.

Jean sets his jaw, bows his head, and kisses the ring.

A breath of stillness. After a moment, Eren’s wrist turns and grips back, pulling Jean in by the wrist, and Jean feels his eyes go wide for the next part.

It takes maybe three seconds. Older Eren kisses both of Jean’s cheeks, one after the other, matching Jean’s formality and actually touching skin. Ten years down the road Eren is taller, with a broad chest thing going on, and he has to lean down to Jean slightly, wafting across some warm spice smoke scent that smells very adult, with the faint scrape of roughness from his jaw and Jean has to—he doesn’t have to, but he ends up tilting his face to receive it. It makes him turn up his throat, and he can’t believe Eren kisses him, or that he kissed the ring, and he’s too surprised to hate it on principle.

Three seconds, tops.

Down between them, Eren brushes his thumb over Jean’s middle finger, dragging it over the face of Jean’s signet ring, a couple knuckles, and back again. Jean feels his palm go slick with sweat.

Eren steps back and nudges Jean’s chin. To close Jean’s mouth, which has been open.

“Wow,” Eren says. “I can’t believe you really kissed it.”

His face splits in a grin and a raised eyebrow. And it’s just—

It’s so fucking typical.

“ _Asshole._ ” Jean snatches his hand back before he can question if it’s ok to snap at the Boss. “Incredible. Could you be more of an adult than me for two seconds?”

Eren just laughs. Jean isn’t sure he’s seen Eren laugh like that ever. It’s weird and makes the back of his neck feel tingly.

“Well, you’re going to be around longer than five minutes, if I remember right,” Eren says finally. He glances at the expensive-looking watch on his wrist like he has a sudden idea. “Why don’t you grab that umbrella? We can get some coffee.”

Jean eyes the rain pelting the windows instead of watching Eren pull on a slick black coat, or—Jean finds himself staring anyway until Eren catches him at it—the ponytail tied at the base of Eren’s neck.

Everything about the future is officially terrible.

In an odd way it helps knowing Eren’s still capable of being insufferable, his Eren-ness showing through the unfamiliar suit and easy confidence veneer of mafia don. Eren talks to him as they walk to the café, passing from topic to topic with vague anecdotes of what everyone is doing these days, never straying far into detail. He goes on like he’s happy to catch up with Jean, and the urge to interrupt is all but absent. It's almost nice. Eren doesn’t exactly slouch but he seems more at ease. Some of that fire is gone from his eyes.

Or, Jean thinks, it isn’t gone. Just different. Not the uncontrolled wildfire blaze he’s used to, which is also... nice. Almost. Jean finds he doesn't mind, anyway. It’s more refined. Precise and dangerous and crackling hot just beneath the surface, like hovering storm clouds on the horizon.

That's not the point. Jean shakes his head and tries to think of a better metaphor, one that doesn’t encourage the weird pressure in his lungs.

At the coffee shop, the employees all seem tuned in to Eren's presence. Eren says “Trust me on this one,” and orders something Jean’s never had but he does really, really like. He makes a face like he did before he kissed Eren's ring. What the hell.

Outside, the air tastes of fresh raw ozone and metropolitan garbage. The umbrella is small enough that they’re shoulder-to-shoulder to stay dry as they make their way back to the main house. Jean has a feeling he should be the one carrying it but Eren ends up holding it for both of them, still talking over the drone of traffic and rain on cement as he guides them through a city Jean doesn’t recognize.

There’s so much Jean doesn’t recognize. But another full look at Eren’s long ponytail hits the point home.

The point is that ten-years-later Eren is ridiculous. He’s still a mess. He must have loopholed around every law of nature to survive a decade in this state. He looks like a vagrant interloping in a better man’s suit, no matter how confidently he holds himself or how neatly he ties his trash hair back.

Jean tells him.

Although it ends up abbreviated and blurted out as, “Why is your hair so gross?” and Jean feels like a child struggling to find a good comeback on the playground.

Eren makes a quiet sound of amusement. “Not everyone seems to mind it,” he says. He doesn’t laugh at Jean, more like he’s pleased and it’s the punchline to an old joke he knows, one Jean isn’t privy to yet. Jean doesn’t know what to do with that.

Jean stands with his coffee and his face heats up a little more. “Any idea what old me is doing right now?”

“I don’t think I should tell you anything specific about the future.”

“Good thing that’s the past then,” Jean says.

“Your future,” Eren says calmly, and Jean curses whoever taught Eren subtlety. “Wait ten years. You’ll see what sort of stuff you do to me.”

“Fuck off, you already cheated with coffee!” Jean says and he can’t keep the octave gymnastics out of his throat. Do _to_ Eren? He turns aside to rub his cheek, hoping it looks like he has an itch but really he’s trying to work the tingling out of his skin. “Don’t even look at me, Yeager. And don’t make me sound like a predator, oh my god.”

“You’re the one trying to pick a fight,” Eren says. His voice rumbles around the edges, and Jean imagines thunder and crushes his ring hand under his arm trying to forget that thought was actually in his brain. What’s worse is he knows he's never going to forget the sound.

“Uh,” he says. “No, I’m not.”

“I can’t be mad right now,” says Eren. “It’s too nice seeing you again.”

Jean looks at him, alarmed. “Don’t you see me in the future?”

“Right, because you’ve stayed fifteen forever.” That stupid smile is back on his face, disappearing as he takes a sip from his coffee. “It’s like seeing an old friend again after a long time.”

In Jean’s ears, a frantic chorus of _your hair is stupid your hair is stupid_ competes with a lone ringing _friend._

“Turn it off for a second, Jean,” Eren says. “I can hear you thinking from here.”

“Oh yeah? If I bazooka back in ten years and I’m an asshole to you it will only be because I remembered when I was fifteen and you were an asshole to me first.” Jean swallows. His head lolls back on his shoulders. “How are you even functioning. How are you...this?”

Eren looks thoughtful and runs his fingers through the ponytail. He shrugs and smiles at Jean. “Maybe it’s an acquired taste,” he allows. Gently.

He’s being gentle with Jean.

Jean huffs and scowls, too surprised to get the first syllable out. “Just knock it off,” he says, disgusted and shaking his head. “How long would it take to get a taste for that, a century?”

“Couldn't say.” Eren tosses his coffee cup in a recycle bin and checks his watch again. “I guess you’ll find out.”

Jean goes still. It’s the tone, the suggestion of a smile when Eren says it. What it means, if they—what happens, and he’s not imagining some stupid electrical thing here, if it’s—

“What is that supposed to mean?” Jean says. “Are you laughing again?” He tries to huff like he did before but it gets caught in his sinuses, turning into an uncool choking noise when Eren shifts the umbrella and steps close.

And Jean doesn't step back. He stays in the dark private world under the umbrella fabric, with the calm confident Eren who is still absolutely an asshole.

Eren reaches up and rubs the back of Jean’s neck, pulling him in a bit. Jean manages not to yell at him when he thinks of his head tilting for the welcoming kisses. He half expects to catch a hint of electrified storm air with Eren's stupid smoke cologne. Jean takes a deep breath, inhaling that smell. 

“I might be laughing,” Eren says, a little closer, “because I know what happens next.”

Before Jean can respond, his entire world shifts.

So does Eren’s grip. It’s dizzying vertigo for a second, like falling, being pulled backwards until Jean’s shoulder blades are on solid earth. For a horrified second he wonders if he swooned and considers just dying where he fell.

Then the air clears and he feels the thighs straddling his chest.

Fifteen-year-old Eren’s face hovers over his, covered with a red splotchy expression of shock Jean can emphasize with, and his hands gripping Jean’s collar.

“No,” Jean says. Ten years and bookended on every side. “No. This can't be happening." He can't believe this. He can't. Both of them. All of him. Jean covers his face. He doesn't know what he's going to do, but at least he's got ten years to think of something. “I can't _believe this_.”


End file.
